[ Zach's POV ]
The universal interpretation for the colour red, I think, will always be rage.
While I watched the sky blush into a crimson with freckles of yellow and orange when the sun long crossed its peak above head, vails of the ambulance faded in the distance, I puffed some air from my mouth. My eyes fixed at the bright sky no matter how much it stung to look directly into sunlight; I was blinded by the tints of red.
But red has never been the colour of rage to me. Red, to me, will always only stand for passion. That passion could be anything– passionate love, passionate rage, passionate mischief, just passion.
I looked down and back at Anna, who stood in the centre of sunlight, staring nonchalantly at the ground, leaning on my car, and it hurt my heart to think that she wouldn't
